


Insult to injury

by itsalwayssunnyit



Series: Paramour [2]
Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Cheating, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, PWP, Sneaking Around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:48:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26513209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsalwayssunnyit/pseuds/itsalwayssunnyit
Summary: Jonathan goes after Geoffrey in the Priwen headquarters looking for an answer. He doesn't get one, but what he finds instead might be even better.
Relationships: Elisabeth Ashbury/Jonathan Reid (mentioned), Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid
Series: Paramour [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1315214
Comments: 11
Kudos: 96





	Insult to injury

Jonathan Reid is usually very proud of his ability to concentrate on whatever task is at hand despite whatever he has going on in his personal life. He has recently discovered, however, that he might not know himself quite as well as he previously thought and, for the past week or so, he keeps losing his train of thought.

On Wednesday, he was giving a young mother of six some advice on how to avoid becoming a mother of seven when something brought him back to that dark corner, Geoffrey McCullum’s knees on the cobblestone, and he suddenly had no idea what the hell he was even talking about. And on Friday? Nurse Branagan was helping Jonathan organize a list of supplies they needed for the infirmary and he was suddenly reminded of what Geoffrey’s warm mouth tasted like with whiskey on his tongue.

Days later, he’s still trying to make sense of his notes.

By the time Saturday night rolls round, Jonathan has already decided enough is enough. He’s always been a man of action and the solution to this mess obviously didn’t lie in moping around asking himself if having his cock eagerly sucked off by McCullum meant the hunter _liked_ him.

Another thing that prompted him to get off his arse and deal with his shit once and for all was a meeting he had with Elisabeth earlier that week during which he couldn’t stop feeling guilty and vaguely dirty, especially after being accused by her of being a terrible conversationalist in the state he was in, absolutely no use for her — he’d better let her go back to her painting and go feel sorry for himself somewhere else, maybe come back whenever he was ready to actually engage in a dialogue.

He couldn’t even blame Elisabeth, really, not when he’s the one being disloyal, not when he’s so obviously hiding something and she’s so _obviously_ offering him a way out.

The headquarters of the fearsome Guard of Priwen are surprisingly easy to locate and as Jonathan makes his way upstairs in search of their leader, he wonders if the members of the guard are aware of just how effortlessly he’s been able to get in, easily dodging the few men who threaten to cross his path.

Geoffrey is currently in a small room at the end of a long, dusty corridor. Jonathan tries not to grin at the startled, “What? How did _you_ get in here?” McCullum exclaims as he sneaks inside what looks like his office — piles of paper and books littered about, a broad desk right in the middle of it, supper leftovers going cold on top of it next to a pile of dirty teacups, lingering scents of black tea, gunpowder and cigarette smoke in the air.

Jonathan smiles with amusement, but is a perfect gentleman as he calmly explains, “You and your guards aren’t nearly as conspicuous as you think yourselves to be, vampire hunter.”

Geoffrey walks towards him, pointing a finger at the door. He doesn’t look angry, just alarmed.

“You have to leave. Now.”

All Jonathan does is let go and the door behind him slides closed with a muffled thump. “I believe we need to talk, hunter,” he says in a carefully neutral voice.

Geoffrey makes a face.

“I am way too sober for this shit.”

The hunter’s words earn him a raised eyebrow. “Really? I think alcohol might be part of the issue at hand, McCullum,” Jonathan points out. He really doesn’t think they would have ended up the way they did that fateful night if McCullum hadn’t been so obviously intoxicated. More kindly, Jonathan presses, “Geoffrey.”

For a second, Geoffrey looks almost embarrassed. Jonathan takes a moment to admire the colour high on his cheeks. They’ve been on better terms for the last few months, it’s true. Ever since Jonathan returned to London, in fact. They haven’t really been friendly, though, and intimacy they’ve recently shared, although not unwelcome, is uncharted territory.

“What do you want me to say?” Geoffrey sounds resigned, but he holds Jonathan’s gaze, an unwavering challenge in his piercing eyes. “What is it you want from me?”

Jonathan softens at the earnestness behind the question, caught off-guard. “I realise, in hindsight, that I should probably have thought about that before I made my way over here,” he admits, taking a step closer to the hunter. “Truth is, though, I haven’t had much clarity to my thoughts as of late.”

“Huh, I wonder why,” Geoffrey teases. Jonathan decides he likes the amusement in his voice. It sounds so much better than the usual hostility. “For once, we seem to be on the same page, then, _leech_.”

Jonathan almost rolls his eyes. There’s no heat behind the slur, no more than when Mary used to call Jonathan a know-it-all, when his friend Clarence called him a spoilsport for choosing a book over a night at the local pub.

“At the risk of being repetitive, dear Geoffrey, I believe we’ve been on the same page for longer than you’d care to admit.” They were never intended to be enemies, is what Jonathan means. He doesn’t really trust himself to get that message across any time soon, though. Geoffrey raises an eyebrow.

“Did you really come here to talk?” he asks, suddenly a lot closer than he was a second ago.

Jonathan realises, then, that he didn’t. Not really. Talking was just the best reason he could come up with at the time, nothing but an excuse and a very transparent one, it seems. However, what he really wants is to lick that sharp tongue and kiss those spiteful lips one more time. Fast, faster than any human could have moved, Jonathan closes in on Geoffrey, pushing him against the side of the desk and sealing their lips together. Geoffrey responds eagerly, an arm looped around Jonathan’s waist and his free hand warm on the back of the doctor’s head as if trying to keep him from getting away. It’s not a delicate type of kiss at all, tongues sliding together, mouths wet and messy and so hot Jonathan wants to burn inside of it.

Geoffrey pulls Jonathan against him with hands and legs as they kiss until they’re almost climbing on top of the desk. A plate clatters to the floor, loud and startling, but doesn’t break. Still, Jonathan pauses, listening for footsteps or voices coming from the hallway outside.

Geoffrey takes advantage of the doctor’s distraction to press the heat of his mouth in messy, wet kisses all along the pale column of Jonathan’s neck. Jonathan closes his eyes, self-control slipping for the briefest of seconds as his hips push against Geoffrey’s. The hunter is so warm all over, warmer right between his legs, where blood rushes and hardens his cock.

Jonathan runs fingers through Geoffrey’s neatly combed hair and Geoffrey pulls away from his assault on the doctor’s throat to meet his eyes. There’s such intensity in the hunter’s sober gaze, so much Jonathan hadn’t seen before. It’s almost scary, but the fluttering sensation inside Jonathan’s undead heart is a joyful one. He takes Geoffrey’s face between his hands and kisses him softly, open-eyed, fingers carefully combing through the mess he made of the hunter’s hair.

They kiss ever so slowly. Geoffrey offers Jonathan his tongue to suck on — Jonathan obliges, pushes his own tongue against Geoffrey’s, slick with saliva, going dizzy over the taste of him — and then pulls back to lick the Ekon’s lips deliberately, teasingly, his dark eyes at half-mast and his face flushed, his ragged breath tickling Jonathan’s lips. Jonathan’s hungry, so hungry for something he hasn’t felt hungry for in a very long time. He cradles the back of Geoffrey’s head with one hand and slides the other one down between their bodies to press his palm between Geoffrey’s legs.

“Christ,” Geoffrey groans, shuddering against Jonathan and grinding the hard length of his arousal into Jonathan’s palm. When Jonathan strokes him once, twice, purposefully, Geoffrey throws his head back, leaving his neck exposed. It’s too much to resist and Jonathan leans in before he can think twice, presses his nose against the hunter’s throat, inhaling the sharp, clean masculine scent of him. His lips drag against the prickle of stubble over Geoffrey’s jaw and Geoffrey tenses as if suddenly realising how very stupid it is to let a leech that close to his neck.

“Reid,” he warns.

“Shh,” Jonathan makes. He doesn’t fully trust himself to really put his mouth on Geoffrey either, the hunter’s pulse strong and oh-so-tempting, right _there_. Jonathan doesn’t say that, though. He just noses the skin right under Geoffrey’s ear — he smells so _good_ , why didn’t Jonathan notice it before? He fumbles Geoffrey’s flies open with a quiet, “Trust me. I do not want to hurt you.”

“Liar,” Geoffrey rasps out, but he’s undoing Jonathan’s trousers in return, a warm hand sliding inside to caress the colder flesh. Jonathan chuckles and then Geoffrey’s fingers wrap around him and then his laughter becomes a moan of pleasure.

“You caught me,” he tells the hunter. “I _will_ not hurt you, though. Believe me.”

“That’s better.” Geoffrey starts to move his hand and Jonathan responds in kind, taking the hunter’s warm, pulsating length in a firmer grip. Geoffrey groans behind clenched teeth.

What Jonathan really wants to do is slide down the hunter’s body and bury his face between his legs, where the scent of Geoffrey’s arousal is thick as a fog. But then Geoffrey is pulling him closer, getting them lined against one another. Jonathan’s body runs colder than Geoffrey’s, a constant reminder of the differences between them, but it hardly seems to matter when Geoffrey is widening his stance, wrapping a big hand around both of their pricks and sliding it up and down, hissing a quiet, “God, we _really_ shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Hmm, I’m going to have to disagree with you, there, hunter,” Jonathan tells him, voice pitched low and secretive. “It feels like we shouldn’t ever do anything _other_ than this.”

Geoffrey laughs, hoarse and a bit hysterical, but he’s picking up speed until Jonathan starts thrusting into his grip, chasing release that is so very close he can almost taste it. He missed being touched like this, being _wanted_ like this.

“God, look at you,” Geoffrey whispers, accent thick around his consonants. “You’ll haunt my fuckin’ dreams, you demon.”

Jonathan lets Geoffrey kiss him even though he’s barely able to kiss back. He’s about to burst out of his skin, he feels so good.

When Geoffrey tries to deepen the kiss, though, Jonathan has to pull away with a sharp, “Don’t.”

Geoffrey’s eyes narrow at the sight of elongate fangs protruding from Jonathan’s parted lips, sharp and ready to pierce through his lip at the lightest press.

It shouldn’t, but it sends a shiver down the hunter’s spine.

“Shit,” Geoffrey curses, but doesn’t pull away. His hand speeds up, his knowing gaze darkens a bit further. With the tip of his tongue Geoffrey traces the seam of Jonathan’s lips. Jonathan hisses helplessly, half-believing he won’t survive this encounter. The gums around his fangs throb and ache and he must surely look like a nightmare, he thinks — hungry, snarling beast — but he’s also just about to orgasm.

And Geoffrey must know because the smirk pulling at the corner of the hunter’s lips is filthy as Jonathan’s eyes roll back. Jonathan holds onto Geoffrey’s shoulders as his climax shudders out of him and moans against Geoffrey’s mouth, spurts of pale slick covering Geoffrey’s fist and cock where they’re pressed together. Geoffrey strokes Jonathan through it, holds him close until the very last wave recedes, leaving Jonathan shaky and oversensitive and as human as he’s ever felt.

Geoffrey doesn’t have the patience to wait for Jonathan to gather himself enough to reciprocate, though, his fingers still wet from Jonathan’s release as he takes himself into a firm grasp and starts up a rough rhythm. For the longest moment, Jonathan just stares, and then he sinks to his knees between the hunter’s spread legs.

“Don’t you dare put those teeth anywhere near me, Reid,” Geoffrey says. Jonathan snorts and proceeds to readily ignore the hunter’s warning as he leans down to lick the heavy, tight mounds of Geoffrey’s balls, the musk of his arousal so dense it’s dizzying.

Jonathan barely has time to do much more before Geoffrey starts cursing, the rhythm of his strokes breaking as he comes all over his fist. Jonathan closes his eyes, trying to carve the memory of Geoffrey’s smell and the breathless way he moans as deeply as he can. He nuzzles into Geoffrey’s groin, licks the taste of them both off the hunter’s fingers and Geoffrey stares at him as if he’s watching the most incredible thing.

“You’re going to get me in trouble, doctor Reid,” Geoffrey murmurs as Jonathan stands up on unsteady legs. The hunter looks utterly debauched, barely making an effort to cover himself, and Jonathan almost feels sorry when Geoffrey hops off the desk.

He can’t stop smiling and the toothy grin he gets in response makes it all the sweeter.

“You should really leave, though,” Geoffrey says, but he’s grinning, so Jonathan is a bit confused for a second. “Something weird is going on over at Whitechapel. That nut Whitaker should be here any minute now. My men went to pick him up.”

Jonathan nods, takes a second to fix his clothes up and smooth his hair back. “Oh, if that’s the case,” he starts to say as he and Geoffrey walk-stumble their way back towards each other. The warmth is still there in Geoffrey’s gaze, playful and so inviting Jonathan can’t help but offer, “Are you sure you wouldn’t appreciate my input on the matter?”

Hell, even after Geoffrey fixed up his clothes, up close like this, Jonathan can still _smell_ him — sweat and come and the black tea Geoffrey probably had after dinner, the oils in his hair, aftershave on his throat. His chest feels tight and Jonathan really wants one more kiss before he leaves, doesn’t want to think about how long it will be before they meet again.

Geoffrey’s dark eyes shine with wickedness, but he warns, “Any minute now, Reid, he will be here. You are going to traumatize the poor priest.”

Jonathan responds by wrapping an arm around Geoffrey’s waist and pulling him into a loose embrace. “Oh, we never really got along, anyway. Something about hellfire and eternal damnation,” he tells Geoffrey before leaning in for a brief kiss, loving and tender in a way he never though would be possible between them. When they part, Geoffrey is holding onto Jonathan’s elbows as if unwilling to let him get away. Jonathan nods towards the door. “I’ll go, then, but you know where to find me.”

Geoffrey nods. They step away from each other clumsily, uncertain and awkward. Jonathan looks back one last time when he’s at the door, meets Geoffrey’s confused-frightened- _elated_ gaze.

Nothing is solved, but it’s all right, somehow.

**Author's Note:**

> so, yeah, I decided to continue this series, explore a bit, let me know what you think and if I made any mistakes, please? I literally wrote this in a day
> 
> love you guys 
> 
> PS: I really missed writing about these two, but I'm reaaaally stuck on Thought Contagion and have no idea what I want to do with it, sorry, so this is my way of working through the block I guess


End file.
